


Just Fucking with Your Head, Kid.

by tvfordessert



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons 1 and 2, M/M, Red Wheelbarrow, freaky dream foreshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:15:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvfordessert/pseuds/tvfordessert
Summary: Eliott's Red Wheelbarrow journal contains several dreams concerning the mysteries surrounding Tyrell Wellick. Here's one that Eliott omitted from the journal due to the fact that it revealed too much from his past and perhaps even, unbeknownst to him, some things from his future.(This will probably be most decipherable if you've read Red Wheelbarrow, but will certainly make no sense if you have yet to watch S2.)





	Just Fucking with Your Head, Kid.

I almost forgot. I found this page ripped out of Elliot's journal. I'll let you decide what it means. - Hot Carla

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Fuck. I had another dream about Tyrell. This one was...different than the others. Fine, I'll be honest: it was fucking weird. I can't decide if HE's messing with me somehow, but here's what happened...

It started here. I was lying in my bed...it all felt grounded, real. Then suddenly every alarm in the building seemed to set off in one cacophonous blaze. It was deafening. So naturally the fucking lights went out too, completing the picturesque anxiety landscape.

I felt paralyzed, a mixture of fear and shock running through me. I knew this chaos was meant for me somehow. 

A foreign hand followed that thought like clockwork closing around my mouth and furthering my paralysis. 

"Consider this your repayment."

I instantly recognized the cocky flair beneath that Latino accent as it hit my ears. I'm not sure what I expected, only that this was far worse.

"After all," he continued. "You did the same for me."

I finally turned and confirmed my suspicions. Even in the dark I recognized Vera, his cold and crazy eyes staring intently at me.

This amplified all my fears. What was he doing here? I never thought I'd have to see him again after...was he finishing the job? First Shayla, then me?

"This is kind of a time sensitive issue." He said.

I remained frozen: heart-racing, unblinking.

"So," he finally snapped into a familiar impatience. "Get a move on!"

I'm not sure how to describe what happened next. I scrambled out of bed, Vera yelling behind me. I ran further and further away from his voice until I was alone stumbling through and endless maze of pitch black. After what felt like an eternity, I spotted a source of light and followed it. The illumination led me through a cartoonish hole in the brick prison wall. This was probably the point at which I should have realized that this was a dream, (note to self: ask Carla about books on lucid dreaming) but instead I just continued wandering forward like a fucking moron until I was in the prison yard following a winding drive that promised to lead away from all of this.

The night seemed as dark and motionless as the prison which induced more panic when a white limousine cut through the obscurity and slowly crept its way towards me. When the limo finally reached me its window rolled down at a similarly dramatic pace revealing America's most wanted cyber-terrorist, and, coincidentally, mine as well: Tyrell Wellick.

"Bonsoir, Eliott." He raised and eyebrow at me and the dumbstruck look that crossed my face. "What? Don't tell me you actually deemed Vera the brains of the operation."

He gestured back towards the increasingly outlandish gap in the prison's wall of which seemingly only I had taken advantage.

I turned back to an open limousine door and an empty seat where Tyrell had been mere seconds ago. Tyrell had engaged in his favorite pastime and had disappeared somewhere in the recesses of the limo so that I could no longer see him.

"Come in, Elliot. I don't have all night." He beckoned from somewhere in the vehicle. 

I got in because apparently I do whatever anyone fucking wants me to in my dreams (seriously ask Carla about lucid dreaming). I slid into the middle seat to find Tyrell studying me from across the spacious vehicle, the complete opposite region from which he originally spoke to me. I had so many questions, but I just sat there like some slack-jawed idiot. 

Tyrell didn't offer much, he just stared out the open window into the dark evening as we drove along. A wanted man, not paying much regard to the fact that he might be spotted rolling along in such a non-discreet manner.

"Sorry," he finally broke. "I know you wanted to serve out your sentence, but the timeline's been moved up. We need you immediately."

I don't know what he thought he solved by telling me this, because it only served to raise more questions. How could he know I wanted to serve out my time? Who was this "we" and what was this timeline to which he referred?

Without knowing where to begin I just sat still employing my usual strategy of a silence which forces my conversational partner to disclose more information as a means to fill it.

"Plus," he turned to me. "It's just not as fun for me without your brilliant, erratic mind around."

Chills ran down my spine. Tyrell was talking about HIM. It made sense, the gaps in my memory, surrounding 5/9, surrounding Tyrell, are because of HIM. That happens to be who Tyrell deals with most, in fact he doesn't know me very well at all. Of course Tyrell doesn't know any of this.

Still, I don't find 'fun' to be the optimal word.

Speaking of fun, it seemed our limo had snaked its way over to Coney Island in an amount of time only allotted to dreams. We were now parked directly across from the old F Society headquarters, however the normally secluded appeal had vanished.

Though it appeared to be the dead of night the boardwalk was crawling with people as we got out of the vehicle. The crowd made me uneasy as their very existence corrupted the solitary purposes of the setting. It was so busy, in fact, that I almost missed the most important piece of scenery: the red and blue lights of cop cars parked on the promenade. We were walking directly into a raid.

"Elliot." Tyrell turned once he realized I'd stopped in my tracks.

"Do you not see -"

"Shh, shh, just stay calm."

Stay calm?!? I thought. How was I expected to stay calm with all my greatest paranoia manifesting before me?

However, for some reason, I followed Tyrell's confident stride into the fray.

We walked between two squad cars towards the doors of Fun Society without anyone turning a head. Time seemed to slow down as I approached to epicenter of the action granting me a moment to take in the scene.

On my left, Darlene was being frisked and cuffed by a female detective. Two male officers stood in front of a police car to my right that housed Trenton and a nervous looking Mobley in its backseat.

"Oh these two?" I heard the cop say, though it came through like muffled stereo. "We're sending them packing."

That seemed convoluted to me but I didn't have much time to process before they began to discuss my sister.

"What about that one?" The second cop gestured across the way.

"They're sending her in for further questioning."

Tyrell either did not hear or was unperturbed by this as we made our way through the scene. He threw open the alley door and walked calmly, even methodically down the narrow corridor.

Once we both slipped into the arcade the madness and the bustle of the pier seemed to shut off. Everything felt normal and tranquil for a moment. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, when I opened them I found Tyrell seriously invading my personal space. His face was extremely close to mine.

This is when the dream became weird (well weirder) and disjointed, because examining Tyrell in that close, isolated moment allowed me to escape this bullshit dream world and access a real memory. Everything about his posture and appearance matched with one of the few memories I have from the night of the hack, complete with a chill down my spine as his hand touched the back of my neck. Because I have so few moments to revisit from 5/9, I've analyzed this one many times. Was there a sub-textual message imbedded in Tyrell's murder confession that night that I had missed from shock? I often wonder if this even happened or if HE rewrote pieces of my memory to distract me from the truth. Other times, stranger times, I wonder if Tyrell was simply trying to kiss me that night.

That thought seemed to re-submerged me into the dream like a kid in a dunk tank at a shitty school fair. And guess what? That last scenario must've been the trigger because Tyrell was fucking kissing me. Like, completely making out with me. He was laying a series of deep kisses onto my stunned lips a gesture which, within a few moments, produced an involuntary moan.

"I know, I know," he broke away, though still clinging closely with both hands laying possessively on the base of my neck. "I said work first, but I -"

He completed that thought by pressing his lips back to mine. I suppose I should have been more prepared for the second time, but he decided to drive me into a wall as if to keep me on my toes.

Once my back hit the wall, I was able to adjust better to the entire confusing-as-fuck situation. I mean, wasn't I supposed to hate this guy or, at the very least, be grilling him for answers? But instead, I began to reciprocate...ravenously (for the sake of honesty or whatever). I don't know what drove that response, I certainly don't think I'm harboring some secret desire to fuck Tyrell Wellick. Maybe this place has just left me too isolated, closed off, and this was just an act of human desire playing out rather drastically in my subconscious.

Either way, since all cards are on the table, I was pretty into what was happening so I didn't resist when Tyrell unzipped my hoodie (which I had apparently been wearing the whole time, instead of my prison garb). I likewise did not oppose when he began to paw at my crotch.

My head raced with the usual concerns surrounding Tyrell, however now they were accompanied by mental images I had never entertained before.

Tyrell began to stroke a hardness in my pants that I slowly and clumsily realized was not me. While I had submitted to the circumstances rather willingly, I had not yet reached that point. By the time I realized, it was too late. Tyrell reached into my pocket grabbed hold of what he had really been searching for: a gun.

In one seamless motion, Tyrell was an arm's length away and pointing a gun at my head. While I was suffering whiplash of the highest order, I was still able to see this for what it was: HIM. Looking down the barrel of HIS gun had become a familiar hobby of mine, so I did what I've become accustomed to and embraced it.

"I'm sorry, Elliot." Unlike HIM, Tyrell seemed genuinely broken up about my downfall as he pulled the trigger. I can almost swear that through the ringing and impact I heard him say that he loved me.

After that I shot awake in a cold, panicked sweat. HE was nowhere in sight, but I knew this was HIS doing . Leaving me with more questions than answers and reverting to abrupt violence was certainly Mr. Robot's forte.

Regardless, I think I should destroy these pages in case I saw something he didn't want me to. Also, it's a bit too...personally revealing. In case these ever come into the wrong hands, certain names and dates would become affiliated with me which I've been careful not to include in this journal thus far.

Goodbye, friend.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

PS (from our friend Mr. Robot)

LET THE RECORD SHOW THAT I DID NOT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH ELLIOT'S HOMOEROTIC FEVER DREAM AND THAT KIND OF FUCKED UP SHIT IS EXACTLY WHY HE NEEDS ME. THE KID THINKS HE'S ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY BUT THIS NONSENSE STANDS TO PROVES HE'S JUST AS FUCKED UP AS ME, HE JUST DOESN'T WANT TO ADMIT IT. IN FACT, THE WAY I SEE IT, THIS DREAM PRESENTS TWO EQUIVOCAL TRUTHS: 

1\. I'M THE FUN ONE.

2\. DESPITE WHAT HE SAYS, THE KID DEFINITELY WANTS TO FUCK THE SWEDISH PSYCHOPATH.


End file.
